PAD 9

I don't want to remember.
I've spent too much time there.
I see too clearly the two of us
holding the ends of a couch
on a city street,
laughing as we
wonder how we'll get
it upstairs.
I wonder if I can ever
produce again that outlaw laugh
we shared in our wedding getaway car.
The knowing looks are gone,
and so are the all night
backgammon games.
I still feel the night
when I sat on the bathroom floor
knees tucked tight under my chin,
cradling the pain in the chest,
and said, I can't stand this anymore.
Get help or get out.
Spare me from memory.
I can't handle it anymore.

The prompt was (duh) memory.